The Crimson Goldfish
by GreenApple109
Summary: Diana Devereux hated a lot of things in life. She hated her grandmother, bigots, megalomaniacs, that Adler bitch, child abusers, the Holmes family, rats, brown nosers, sausages, and authoritarian figures just to name a few. Then of course, that Mycroft Holmes who single handedly ruined her life. BETA WANTED
1. Sherlock has a friend?

**Story starts from Scandal in Belgrvia including my OC.**

 **Not** **a traditional Sherlock OC story where a girl moves in "221C" and falls in love with Sherlock because those stories are so boring and cliched. No this story isn't about a girl. It's about a** **woman** **. Temperamental, charming, and a definite Slytherin (HP reference).**

 **A part time ally, part time enemy and a full time confidant of Sherlock Holmes.**

* * *

"Sherlock where exactly are we?"

Sherlock paid the cabbie their fare and paid no heed to John. As he collected the change, he could feel the nervousness and jumpiness that resonated off of John as a young prostitute stumbled past them in too much makeup and too cheap clothing, scratching her arms and mumbling incoherently under her breath.

Something was off key. Mycroft had warned him to stay away from the disappearance of the Woman but something wasn't right. Clearly, Mycroft had every intention of hunting her down, force the information out of her before sending her to some foreign execution. Why else would Mycroft tell him to keep away from her?

By God his brother was an idiot. The Woman was clearly smarter than letting herself get caught by the British Government. And even, if Mycroft did get to the Woman, then obviously the contents that his brother were after would be handed to the associate to let them have the upper hand.

That was the funny thing about criminals.

They hated each other and would do anything to see each other dead, yet they relied on each other like a family.

How cliched.

"Sherlock!" John called out as his flat mate began to stalk off without him.

"We're here to retrieve information from a friend of mine."

"Friend?" John questioned quizzically. He jogged up to keep up with Sherlock's long brisk strides and looked at him with a frown of confusion. "I thought you said you don't have any friends."

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "Special exception." He said as he reached the required building.

Sherlock knocked on the red door rapidly, before letting his hands fall into his trusty pockets. John opened his mouth to ask further questions but when the red door opened, his jaw completely fell.

The woman, who John assumed was Sherlock's friend, looked at the two men innocently with her baby blue eyes before they sparked with familiarity when she looked at the Consulting Detective.

"Well if it isn' Sherlock 'olmes!" The blonde cried gleefully, her dark lips stretched into a blinding smile. John inwardly cringed at the woman's harsh Cockney accent. "I was beginin' to wonder when you'd come around."

"Madame Devereaux," Sherlock greeted cordially. "Back in London I see."

"Aw Sherlock none of that will ya!" Devereaux laughed coarsely. "But I do suppose you want some information dontcha? C'mon in! I'll make you two some tea! Business doesn't start for another 5 hours. Come in! Come in!"

With a quick jingled hand flick to gesture them inside, Sherlock briskly entered the building with John albeit a bit hesitantly following afterwards.

Diana Devereaux closed the door behind the two men and beamed with pride as they scanned the foyer from roof to ceiling with John wearing his awe on his sleeve.

Dark mahogany floorboards shone brightly under their feet, reflecting the light from the exquisite chandelier which hung above them brightly. The air smelt of jasmine incense and men's cologne which fit perfectly with the dark burgundy with gold trimmings of the walls. With the loud clocks of her heels, Madame Devereaux directed them further down the corridor to the left.

John was further surprised when he entered the parlour. Rich ostentatious furniture that could have been worth his share of the flat spread across the room giving it a gaudy atmosphere. The dark red carpet seeped through the floor with mahogany being the key component of all the furniture.

Perhaps she was going for the Victorian theme.

Shooing the two men into a plush sofa trimmed with gold, John took this moment to observe the blonde woman who Sherlock considered a 'friend' as she busily ordered another woman to put the kettle on as she readied a tea tray.

She was no doubt an enthralling creature. Her peroxide blonde hair was stylishly pinned up while the remaining of her clothes seemed high class yet vintage. Jewels besotted her fingers and a string of realistic pearls dangled from her slim neck to mingle with her lavish purple dress.

With the amount of makeup on her face John wondered what she would look like with nothing to enhance her wide blue eyes, creamy complexion, and purple painted kissable lips.

Madame Devereaux gracefully placed the tea tray down on the expensive coffee table before smiling and sitting herself down on an armchair opposite them.

"So what matter brings the great, big, scary Mr 'olmes to my wonderful establishment?" she asked, clasping her hands together merrily.

"Irene Adler."

Madame Devereaux hesitated but her subtle strong distaste for the Woman didn't go unnoticed by the detective. She relaxed and a wicked smirk came into light.

"Dominatrix 'ey. Never knew you liked it rough Sherlock."

"Just answer the question, Diana."

"What d'you want with 'er?" She asked curiously. "Nothin' much special about tha' woman. Sneaky little snobby tart that one is I'll tell ya that."

"That isn't how it works Diana and you know just as much as I do that I am the one who questions and you are the one who answers."

The two of them stared at each other, baby blue clashing with ice blue until it felt like an entire minute for John that the woman reluctantly relented and crossed her arms.

"I'm assumin' shes stirring up some trouble with some dirty ole guv'nah again. Case of defamation, innit." Diana stated rather than asked.

"Glad to see you haven't lost your touch," Sherlock commented wryly. He leant back on the sofa and tented his fingers under his chin. "You clearly know the Adler woman enough, though. With your type of work and the connections that you both share. So tell me where is she?"

"What am I? 'Er Mother? Posh, Mr 'olmes. Fought you woulda known better than that. If you really want the services of a dominatrix, you coulda just asked for me you know."

John choked on his tea causing her to snap her baby blue eyes on her. She gave him a quick once over, giving John the chills as she shot him another unreadable glance, before turning her attention back to Sherlock.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and threw it at the blonde who caught it effortlessly. Her blue eyes scanned the screen a few times before throwing the phone back to Sherlock with a scoff.

"How romantic," she drawled, unimpressed. "A coupla brief texts. Sorry, but she's not in love withya. Now if you're here to spill your teenage hormonal fantasies about a dominatrix, leave. I've got better things to do."

"Oh yes," Sherlock sneered. "Much better things to do. Like getting beat up by your husband for the fifth time this month, alone."

"Fourth," she deadpanned.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, appalled. His bluntness and insensitive never ceased to surprise John even after living two years with the high functioning sociopath. About to apologise on his friend's behalf, Madame Devereaux lifted a jewelled hand to silence John.

"It's alright Dr Watson," she said coolly, her eyes burning into Sherlock's cold ones bitterly. "I'm used to his outbursts of insecurity and urgent need of attention to soothe his vanity. Afterall, 'I'm the smart one'."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh of annoyance. He gave the woman an unsavoury look as she beamed at him vainly.

"Don't tell me. You're another one."

"The art of deduction is a gift that I found solely on my own, Dr Watson," Madame Devereaux, answered as she carelessly rolled a big sapphire ring around her ring finger. "I was gifted with it while your beloved Sherlock had to work for it. Shows that some people are indeed superior to most."

"And that some aren't as inferior as you think," Sherlock snapped. "Do tell me Diana what does your husband think about your deductions after you concluded he was being unfaithful and he beat you with his own bare fists. I, for don't believe that one is superior if they weakly chain themselves into a meaningless arrangement to cowardly escape from their fears."

"It doesn't matter what my husband thinks of my deductions," Madame Devereaux responded steadily. "He loves and cares for me and that's that."

"Love," Sherlock sneered. The mere thought of the silly little fantasy repulsed him.

"You exist in a relationship where the one who you claim to love clearly does not genuinely reciprocate your feelings. He beats you, cheats on you, and disrespects you yet you still come crawling back for that lowly vermin, really Diana how stupid can you get? I know this since you winced at your left side as you opened the door to let us in and when you bent forward to put the tea tray down.

"This concludes to the fact that Clarence forcibly pushed you to the marble countertop in your kitchen causing a deep bruising to occur on your left hip. Also the fingerprints marks underneath all that makeup on your neck subsequently prove that strangling is a common occurrence."

Tension plagued the air, enough to suffocate all the occupants in the room as Sherlock concluded his theory.

John's eyes flickered nervously between the blonde and the consulting detective as the seconds loudly ticked on in the background.

Madame Devereaux' face revealed nothing but a chilling coldness as she stared back at the cocky curly haired man opposite her. Her blue eyes burned with pure unadulterated loathing, strong enough to melt off the detective's eyes but Sherlock's face remained impassive betraying no sign of emotion or reaction.

Unclenching her fists which had scrunched up her dress on her lap she answered in a steady voice. "Love comes in many shapes Mr 'olmes. Clarence an' I aren't perfect but you're just as pathetic as the rest of us. I know this and I know you do too."

"Pity," Sherlock replied. "Then why is it that I believe that you still harbour feelings for someone other than your husband?"

"That's your belief Sherlock," Madame Devereaux snapped viciously. "And beliefs can be misguided and be formed out of hope and desperation. Just like religions."

He didn't miss the hot redness creeping up her neck and slowly onto her porcelain cheeks as she obviously thought about his statement of fact. Sherlock smirked to himself and leant back into his chair.

"Are you insinuating that I am hopeless and desperate?" Sherlock questioned with amusement. "I guess it's only fair to then say you, Diana Marilyn Arlington Amberley Devereux, are a religion."

Scrunching up her skirt once again, Diana let out an ugly sneer. "Alright you wanker. You want to know where Adler is or not? Well 'ere the facts. I 'aven't seen her. And don't ever want to. There."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reopened his phone in annoyance. Scrolling through his messages, he opened the unknown numbers and passed it to Devereaux with more force than necessary.

"Read the messages," he instructed. "And tell me. What do you see."

John watched with treading anticipation as Diana rolled her baby blue eyes in irritation and looked at the screen. He noticed the way how her brows would twitch into a soft furrow and the pout of her lips as she focused on the white screen inf ront of her. Finally, with a sigh, she passed the phone back to Sherlock.

"London," she said. "She's been hang'n 'bout Westminster for a while. Paddington if I'm right. Right now I assume she'll be at Madame Tussauds, waiting for someone. Also she fancies you quite alot."

"How-"

"No time for silly questions John," Sherlock cut him off abruptly. He stood from the couch and tightened his blue scarf around his neck. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

"She's stayin' 'idden for a reason Sherlock," Diana explained slowly, as if he were a child. "When the time's right she'll come for you. Until then, I have a request."

"You know I don't do those," Sherlock dismissed her carelessly.

"Don't care," she replied with cheek. "Finished 'er off won't you? Put her in 'er place and let there be peace once and for all."

"Kill her?" John asked shocked at the woman's audacity.

"Too cliched."

"Humiliate her, I presume," Sherlock answered.

Diana's head back as a full blown evil cackle filled the air. Once done with her laughing fit she gazed at Sherlock condescendingly with a murderous glint in her eyes. "Oh Sherlock, how do you know me so well!"

* * *

 **Can anybody guess who Devereaux might be? What she exactly does for a living? Also can you guess what Sherlock and Devereux's relationship is? How does she tie in with Irene Adler?**


	2. The Worst Woman in London

Diana Devereaux, the Worst Woman in London, stood there in the bathroom, trying her best to heal her bruised hip that her love gave to her last night.

It was clear as day that Sherlock Holmes' nosey deductions were in fact correct. As soon as he left with that doctor, Diana's insecurities took hold of her, rushing to the nearest bathroom and shredding her clothes off to look at her body.

It was ironic, to be labelled the Worst Woman of London, only for her to have weaknesses such as little as her domestic squabbles. She was feared, adored, heartless, and the press worshipped her scandalous reputation. Many would kill, and have tried, to take her mantle.

Diana ran her finger over the bruise. She winced from the pain as she stared down at her porcelain finger against the ugly purple. Love. It was a fickle thing.

They said love came all shapes and forms.

Too bad the only love she'd received in her life left her scars. Sherlock Holmes knew _nothing_.

She stared herself in the mirror and looked into her baby blue eyes. Diana sighed and got dressed again, marching out of the bathroom with her head held high and icy demeanour intact.

Today was Thursday, meaning there weren't going to be many clients for her girls tonight, although there was the few men who were either wealthy and needed some arm candy for a dinner or the nervous virgins who snuck out to have fun night before scrambling back to their boring wallflower lives.

Then of course, her boys had to take get rid of some pests lurking in her territory. Half of them had gone with her husband up to Ireland to take care of their cargo from Bolivia and distribute them to the best consumers which she still had to take account into.

Diana mentally conjured up her client list for tonight when she heard a quiet voice ask for her attention. She turned and smiled at the nervous looking woman in front of her, observing the way she wrung her hands nervously and tittered on her feet.

Just came back from working as a waitress in a cafe, caught the tube, single, has a crush on her neighbour, Dove deodorant.

Age: 21

University Student, the one who's looking after five siblings while her mother slacks off with her liquor.

Jeannie? Jeanne? Jessica? Jennifer? Jean? Jessica!

Jessica Costello Garcia.

The one who came knocking on her door after seeing a tart card in a phonebox in Balham.

"Madame," the girl began. "There are two… men in the parlour asking to see you."

Diana furrowed her brows. It was rare to get clients at this time in the morning. They normally came during the noon but Diana shrugged it off and told the girl in a firm voice.

"Do I 'ave ta do evrythin' for you girls? If they're in the parlour then that means business! Go get the girls, let them do their business and quick 'em out! Go on! MOVE IT!"

"No, no, but, Madame," Jessica panicked. "You don't understand. Those… men. They're not here for business. Well they are. But not for our business."

"Bloody hell girl, ge' on with it!" she snapped.

"They're from the government!" Jessica blurted.

Diana froze as the words left the younger girl's lips. She felt all the air in her lungs leave her before the anger and annoyance in the pit of her stomach grew bigger and bigger like a flame wildly spreading across her body.

"At least… that's what they said?"

She shoved past Jessica and stormed towards the parlour. What gave the fuckin' government the right to waltz into her establishment and cause a heap of more trouble? She growled in annoyance before morphing her scowl in a sweet and pleasant looking smile and her composure was nothing but grace and charm.

She stopped right before the archway to her parlour and took a deep breath in before barging into the room with a loud greeting with an exaggerated Cockney accent.

"Well, well, well! Welcome gentlemen! An' now what can we do for you today?"

Two men in black suits sat in the peach love seat with serious expressions and and guns in their hidden holsters. To be fair, they weren't too unfortunate looking although they weren't anything like James Bond.

"Mrs Devereaux," the dark man stood to his feet and folded his hands over each other. "We're sorry to be disturbing you at this time of the day, but you'll be coming with us."

36 years old.

Serious relationship.

Suits worth 300 pounds, meaning he's got a good paying job.

Right handed.

Armed.

A .45 ACP for semi-automatic pistol. A 'Strike One' firearm.

Owns a Russian Blue cat and a pomeranian, probably his girlfriend's.

Suffers from insomnia and PTSD, former soldier by the scars on his hands and at a young age he brow his elbow from falling and landing on it weirdly.

"I'm sorry," Diana shook her head naively. "But I don't understand why. I 'aven't done anything wrong."

Yet.

"Ma'am," the shorter man said with a grim face. "You are summoned for an impromptu meeting with a selection of cabinet members for confidential reasons. If you could please-"

"Oh what the bloody hell does the guvament want with me?!" she exclaimed obnoxiously. "If this about that fuckin' Culverton Smith again then I swear to God I will fuckin' shove my foot so far down-"

"Ma'am we can do this the easy way or the hard way," the darker man cut her off, showing off his holster which held a Strike One firearm, just like she predicted. "The choice is up to you."

"Well isn't it my right to know why I'm going," she asked indignantly. "Innit? Innit my right to know where an' why I'm goin'? Because last time I checked that was the case."

"Ma'am," the shorter man sighed through his nose. "We have already told you. It is confidential."

"Well then," she crossed her arms and glared at them pointedly. "I'm _not_ going."

Five minutes later, they had placed her in an uncomfortable pair of handcuffs and escorted her into a fancy black car, without regard to her protests and wild cursings.


	3. The Black List

In her entire life there were a lot of things Diana hated. She hated her grandmother, bigots, megalomaniacs, that Adler bitch, child abusers, the Holmes family, rats, brown nosers, sausages, and authoritarian figures just to name a few.

Wasn't it just her luck that she was sitting in front of three big shot British Government workers, criticising her with their steely eyes and upturned noses?

Diana wasn't as oblivious as what the pompous pricks were probably thinking. Oh she knew why they called her in, even if they said it was 'confidential'.

Confidential her arse, they were thirsty for her knowledge. Sort of like that Tv Show. What was it again? Uh yes. The Black List. Just replace that bald James Spader with a gorgeous blonde in Britain and all was done!

The spectacled politician's bottom lip pouted as he slammed her file shut. He nodded a few times to himself before passing the file onto Lady Smallwood.

"Pretty impressive resume you've got there, Mrs Devereux," he said to her politely.

Diana offered a glowing smile to old Harry Potter and beamed. At least someone could appreciate her works.

Lady Smallwood snatched the file and narrowed her eyes at bespectacled oldie. "I'll be the judge of that."

Diana rolled her eyes. What gave this Blondie the right to judge her?

Clearing her throat, Lady Smallwood began to read her file aloud.

"Diana Marilyn Amberley Devereux neé Arlington. Age: 32.

Occupation: Owner and Madam of the 'ill reputed' establishments Devereux Delights, Carnal Cheers, Sugar & Spicey, and Gatsby's dream. Owner and Madam of another four ill reputed establishments in the United States… and… another five located in France, Japan, Switzerland, Norway, and Australia.

Wife of Clarence Devereux, Criminal Mastermind from Dallas, Texas. Current location unknown and is on the run from the British Government for confidential reasons.

Former wife of business tycoon Josiah Daniel Amberley, former owner of the jewellery franchise Rubeus Amberley.

"Charged with 15 counts of incitement, 13 counts of being a common scold, 13 counts of Mayhem, 12 counts of disorderly conduct, 11 counts of assault, 8 counts of operating a disorderly house, 7 counts of… murder," Lady Smallwood raised her eyes off the files questioningly. "Of Josiah Daniel Amberley, Winnifred Eudora Johnston, Gretchen Sandra Kitland, Charles Gregory Hampton, Sophia Hillary DeLaurentis, Harrison Lachlan Cleaver…"

"Charges which I was found not guilty of."

"And five counts of attempted murder," Lady Smallwood continued, ignoring her statement. "Of Ethel Eugenia Morton, Velma Ursula Riley, Clover Cameron Green, Maria Tatiana Kuznetzov, and Irene Vivienne Adler."

"Quite thrilling isn't it?" Diana smiled, biting her bottom lip coyly. She winked at the white haired pompous politician on the right, who just stared at her impassively. She turned her smile to Lady Smallwood, who, if possible looked more disapproving than before.

"You have also been counted for arson, larceny, extortion, fabrication of false evidence, and pandering."

"Charges which I was not found guilty of."

"Mrs Devereux," Lady Smallwood sighed impatiently. "As you are aware, we are here to discuss the activities of your husband Mr Clarence Devereux."

"Oh Cal," Diana sighed dreamily. "He really is a charmer."

"He is currently in hiding," Lady Smallwood continued, her voice increasing in volume. "Yet our sources inform us of the recent illegal activities your husband has conducted under his name - Mrs Devereux! Are you paying attention?"

"Bought me a nice red Tesla last Christmas," Diana continued in her dreamy tone. "Oh how I love that man! But on with your question Mrs Smallwood, I 'aven't seen my Big Cal since the last time the coppas caught 'im. I told the coppas a 'undred times! Just go get one of 'em fancy files and read it! Go on! It's not that difficult now is it?"

"Are you not aware of all the crimes your husband has committed?"

Diana looked at her stupidly. Was this woman seriously daft? Of course she was aware! She slept next to that man every night since their vows! Of course she knew! Feeling her lips pull into a smug smirk, she leant back in her chair and crossed her legs, making sure the gentlemen got a good view.

"Are you not aware of the crimes your husband has committed, Mrs Smallwood? Pedophila's a crime now innit?"

Lady Smallwood's nostrils flared and her eyes turned to ice.

"Mrs Devereux," old Harry Potter addressed her quickly, catching the deathly look of his colleague. "It is your national duty to report your husband in name of justice, law, and our Queen. We have more than enough reason to believe that you are harbouring a felon, in which case is Clarence Devereux. This is not only a severe crime but there will be consequences for both you and your husband if he conducts any more illegal activities. That is of course unless you help us."

"Go ask bloomin' Sherlock 'olmes to find 'im!" She exclaimed. "I'm not findin' my 'usband after he slept with that French ginger bitch in my own room! Had to burn a good set of sheets from Italy 'cause of the mess they made! And let me tell you this, the day Big Cal finally gets his fuckin' arse to London I'm goin' to slug that bastard until he begs for my mercy ya hear?"

"Have you no concern for the lives at stake?" White haired oldie snapped. "Our last source informed us of what's been going on in the underworld. Clarence Devereux and James Moriarty are conspiring against each other to see who is the better criminal mastermind! It's madness! Crimes rates are a guarantee and know this Mrs Devereux, you are just as bad as the whole bunch of them by standing aside and letting your husband and Moriarty get out of hand."

"Well if you're already aware of what's going in the underworld then you don't need me!" She snapped back. "I 'ave no clue where my 'usband is and I sure as hell don't know two shits where Moriarty is lurking. He's not one to find in your local Starbucks and I sure as hell am not friends with a weirdo like him."

"Our source informed-"

"To hell with your source," she yelled, standing up from her chair.

Her grandmother always said her hot temper always got her off the tracks but fuck that. She didn't give two shits if the bloody British Government arrested her and locked her up in a mental institute. Besides, with that Adler bitch off the streets like Sherlock had told her then everything should be fine. Money could pay her way out of prison, and she could easily slit the throats of these three stooges in front of her.

"Mrs Devereux-"

"No, you listen to me," she glared at Smallwood as coldly as she could. "I don't know where my fuckin' 'husband is an' I don't give two fucks about James Moriarty or this little charity event to "Save the city of London". Any source of blackmail you got against me will be certainly turned against you and before you know it, I can and will have ruined your family's lives. Also to add on top of that; no. I am not interested in becoming your James Spader. Is that clear?"

She individually looked at each person in the room. Even the scrawny old secretary in the back.

Once she knew the message had gotten across, she sat back down. Her composure as perfect as it could be with a threatening smile on her face. The blank faces looked back at her and it wasn't until the door behind her opened that their eyes drifted to the new occupant.

"My sincerest apologies for my tardiness."

Diana internally groaned to herself as another pompous voice joined the room. It was already bad enough 50 year old Potter, Skinny Colonel Saunders, and Smallwood (she snickered at the sound of that hag's name) were hounding her about Clarence but another hypocritical snob? She didn't know if she could deal.

Looking down at her acrylic nails she wondered what the chances were of leaving here before 6pm. It was a Friday, busiest night for her girls with all the deadbeat husbands searching for a pleasurable escape after a week's worth of a boring job and a boring life with the wife. Also she had to fire that Stacey for getting knocked up again and had to get that new girl Renee prepared for her first night.

"I had some… complications with a younger brother of mine."

"No problem at all Mr Holmes."

Diana's ears perked up at that sentence.

Holmes.

Her mind quickly registered what was happening and when it clicked, she nearly snapped her nail off with the sudden dread and horror of her realisation.

"Indeed," Smallwood answered coolly. She looked directly at her before flickering her eyes up at the man behind her. "Mr Holmes, this is Diana Devereux the Worst Woman in London."

 _Auburn hair, tall stature, snobbish look gracing his face... and there was that goddamn umbrella next to him..._

"Mrs Devereux, this is Mr Mycroft Holmes."

Keeping a straight face, Diana looked up at the wretched Holmes brother, her jaw set, blue eyes narrowed up at him with as much loathing as possible.

Any trace of surprise or shock that he was feeling was kept under complete wraps as he looked down at her, as if she were the scum of the earth.

Which she was... because of him.

With a tilted chin he addressed to her condescendingly. "Pleasure to finally meet you Mrs Devereux."

Boy she would give anything to slap that bastard's look off his face

* * *

 **Constructive Criticism is welcome and please leave a review. They keep me going :)**


	4. Three Options

**Thank you for all the reviews and followers :)**

* * *

She had **_three_** options.

* * *

Number One:

With a tilted chin he addressed to her condescendingly. "Pleasure to finally meet you Mrs Devereux."

Diana felt years of emotions swelling up inside of her dangerously as he looked up at the bastard's face. All the pain and suffering that he had inflicted on her 15 years ago surfaced back into a something stronger and more dangerous as her whole body burned with fury.

With a feral growl she let her instincts and emotions take over her, launching herself onto him, biting, scratching, ripping his hair, and punching him all while she screamed bloody murder.

No.

That wouldn't end well.

 **Rewind.**

Number 2:

With a tilted chin he addressed to her condescendingly. "Pleasure to finally meet you Mrs Devereux."

With a stubborn huff, she crossed her arms and looked as much as the petulant child she was by slouching and glaring up at him distastefully.

"Pleasure my arse," she grumbled. "I don't want insincere formalities. Especially from a tosser like you Myc."

"Have you met each other before?" Lady Smallwood questioned, as Mycroft's jaw clenched in annoyance.

Arthur Mycroft Harold Holmes did **_not_** do nicknames.

In case she wanted to jeopardise everything she built up after that wanker abandoned her then she would've happily gone along with this option. But by going through this route then Mycroft would definitely spill her beans.

* * *

So she went with the **third** option.

Looking up at the bastard's face through her thick lashes, Diana removed any trace of loathing by looking as coy as possible.

"Pleasure's all mine Mr Holmes."

With a bashful smile which had always had men fawning after her, she offered a hand out for Mr Holmes to kiss.

A sudden cheer erupted inside of her as his eyes met hers again with a mutual understanding passing through them.

The game was on.

"Whatsa matter Mr 'olmes?" She asked. "You're not just gonna keep a lady hangin' now will ya?"

The Shitpile only smiled down at her sardonically. "A Madam, owner of a third of London's brothels, and a woman who sells herself for sexual activities. Hardly a lady in my opinion."

Dropping her hand, she sneered at him.

The irony of it all.

She was a lady. Once upon a time. A lady with a well respected job, an amazing flat shared with her charming partner, with friends who admired her. There was a time when Mycroft Holmes regarded her as a lady. Until he ruined it all.

Like the arrogant arse he is, he swiftly went in front of the desk with his annoying umbrella by side, blocking her view from the rest of the snobs (not that she wanted to see their faces).

"If I may Lady and gentlemen, I would request a private audience with Mrs Devereux," he announced, his tone final and authoritative. " _Alone_."

Kinky.

"But that wasn't what we first agreed on, Mr Holmes," old Harry Potter countered. "We specifically-"

"Jeffrey, old boy," Mycroft began, swinging his umbrella carelessly, hypnotising the occupants in the room with it. "That was before this meeting had begun. But it's clear that we haven't gotten anywhere with Mrs Devereux so I suggest that you leave this up to me."

There was a tone of finality in his voice, daring anyone to argue against his decision. His icey blue eyes inspected the other Government officials before landing on Lady Smallwood who simply gave out a stiff nod.

"Fifteen minutes," she agreed on tersely. "I'm counting you on this one Mr Holmes. Fifteen minutes and then we'll come back."

"Make that ten," he replied arrogantly.

Diana rolled her eyes at the toerag's cockiness. Still as overly ambitious as ever. Diana wondered why she ever fell for that pisspot. Every part of him was just a full on boast about his ego. His attitude, his voice, hell even his stance with his fucking umbrella simply screamed: 'look-at-me-I'm-Mycroft-Holmes-and-I'm-the-most-amazing-person-you'll-ever-meet!'

With an exaggerated cough, she got everyone's attention and smile as she leaned towards the right side of her chair so the board could see her.

"Yeah, hi. Isn' there some sort of rule where a man and woman can't be alone together? Shouldn't it be… you know? Be another person with us?"

"Ten minutes Mycroft," Lady Smallwood said, her eyes back on Mycroft. "We're counting on you."

And with that they slowly left, one by one, not sparing her a backwards glance or heed to her question. Not even scraggly Vivian.

How did she know her name?

Her fricking pencil case and folder had her name on it with those golden permanent markers you draw gold stars in for kindergarteners.

With careful eyes she observed silently as the elder Holmes brother walked his way around to sit in Lady Smallwood's chair directly opposite of her sans the few metres distance.

Evidently, he had gotten older but that made him even more handsome. He'd lost some weight over the past 15 years but she could guess that his eating habits were still as compulsive as before. His hair had thinned by a large factor of stress but it was clearly well sacrificed as his suits were now tailor made just for him.

How did she know?

Giovanni Leotta wasn't just a former client of hers but was the one of most renowned and talented tailor in the whole Europe. She could pick his suits in a crowd of a million simply by the stitching and the signature buttons. Besides… the waistcoat is the exact same one she had bought for somebody else on his birthday.

Her thoughts betrayed her for a moment as she caught him glancing over at her. Was he also deducing her? Did he also notice how much she had changed? Did he even _care_?

Settling himself down on the big leather chair, he templed his fingers and crossed his legs. Although Sherlock may deny it the similarities between him and Mycroft Holmes were endless.

"Now Mrs _Devereux_ ," he began formally, eyes never leaving her face. "Why don't we start ahead by talking about the Gang Wars that have been going on in London. You surely must have a lot to contribute to this topic."

"Gang Wars?" She asked in her most innocent voice.

"Does the name Johnny O'Hara sound familiar to you?" Mycroft asked nonchalantly. "Douglas Kelly's right hand man. Father of three kids and husband to Nurse O'Hara who works at the Royal London Hospital? Found brutally beaten with five other men five weeks ago at the bottom of a 30 storey building."

"I… 'ang on," Diana looked at the ceiling, pretending to look like she was trying to recall that specific information like a goldfish. "That was on the BBC wasn't it?"

"Are you aware that Johnny O'Hara survived the fall but was diagnosed as a Quadriplegic two days later?"

"Surely, it was."

"Are you or are you not?"

Diana flinched at the sharpness of his voice and looked back at him. Whatever mood he was in now, he definitely wasn't in the mood to play games. How boring. All work and no play. That was the motto Mycroft Holmes lived by. How dull.

"Yes," she answered slowly. "I am aware."

"Are you or are not also aware that Mr O'Hara was found dead in his room at the St Bartholomew's last week?"

"Listen here you tosser," Diana said in a low voice, anger clinging onto every word. "If you are insinuating that I, me! Had anything to do with Johnny O'Hara's death then you are sorely mistaken. I 'ave an alibi and furthermore I won't say anythin' till my lawyer gets here, understand?"

"You are in no current position to make threats Mrs Devereux," he stated in a matter of fact tone. "Now unless you want to leave this site by 6pm for God knows what ghastly activities then I suggest you answer my questions diligently. I repeat: Are you aware of Mr O'Hara's death?"

Sucking in a breath, Diana clenched her jaw and fists as anger and frustration rose up within her. Taking a slow breath out she let off a tense nod, not trusting her mouth with the obscenities that were bursting to come out.

Mycroft, ever so unfazed and cold simply lifted his chin higher and looked down at her ready to drill any more answers out of her.

"Would you like to specify why Victor Ross was also one of the five bodies found at the bottom of the building with Lewis Delmonico, found dead with a bullet through his frontal lobe, on the roof?"

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Diana refused to break eye contact and shrugged carelessly, as if those names didn't mean anything to her.

"What am I? Wikipedia? How the 'ell am I suppose to know why there was a drunken scuffle? Their own fault for partying too hard on a rooftop."

"Well I suppose you should know as those two men are part of your.. gang."

"Well not specifically me now is it?" Diana murmured churlishly. "The file reads Clarence Devereux, doesn't it?"

"Our source claims that there are nearly 17 gangs in the city of underbelly of London and the most notorious ones being infamously titled 'the Big Five'.  
They consist of the Cabrenelli, the Ling-Mah, The Irish Connection, Rodriguez, and the Devereux. Furthermore, word on the street is that the Devereux gang isn't run by Mr Devereux but rather his wife, Mrs Devereux."

He casted a pointed look towards her but she brushed it off and scoffed incredulously.

"Now, now, Mycroft you can't simply just fall for those meaningless whispers on the streets now can you?

"You operate nearly a third of London's whorehouses which are open for both the average working class scum and the highest ranking officials for the British Government and have been arrested on numerous occasions for illegal activities that you have disgracefully avoided punishment for. You also help Sherlock Holmes on rare occasions to give him 'clues' about criminal figures so he can bring them down. That is enough reason for me to also believe that you are the leader the Devereux gang. Chief conductor of all their robbery heists, murders, blackmail, and the drug deals they have done in the past four years."

There.

Right there.

Underneath all those fancy facts about her he still had the audacity to judge her. Criticise her. Disparage her and denounce every action she had ever done as if he were some goddamn Saint!

So she laughed.

It was an ugly sound, full of bitterness and humour, cackling through the room, those icy blue eyes never blinking at her suddenly odd behaviour.

"Something you'd like to share?"

Diana stopped her laughter and glared at him coldly. "No Mycroft," she answered icily. "Only the fact you corrected my assumption that you truly are a heartless bastard. And now don't be offended by me toots. I'm sure you already get that name enough from your dear brother."

"And I suppose you'd know all about sibling compassion since you were blessed with being alone all your childhood," he countered smoothly.

Before she could reply back her own witty retort, Mycroft lifted a hand up, silencing her before a word could escape her throat.

"Now is not the time for childish games, Mrs Devereaux," he sighed in a bored manner. "Unless you want to revert back to _our_ childish games."

He leant forward and whispered dangerously the one thing that could bring her down.

"Miss Marple."

* * *

 **Sooo... how was it? Any feedback needed? Also feel free to Review or PM me for requests, ideas, or just weird questions you want to add to the story :)**


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